


and they recognized each other like italics

by feralphoenix



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Post-Canon, Size Difference, Spoilers - Undertale Pacifist Route, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 06:36:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13405527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralphoenix/pseuds/feralphoenix
Summary: Sometimes Sans misses sex, but the dating scene and romantic relationships are more emotional labor than he's up to dealing with, and hookups are too much hassle and riskier than he likes too. Luckily for him, he's got a horny best friend who agrees with him on all above counts, as well as the obvious solution. All that's left is to give being friends with benefits a try and see if they like it.So, uh, no romo or anything, but he really does love Toriel from thebone-tom of his heart.





	and they recognized each other like italics

**Author's Note:**

> _(a dapper villain in a Sunday serial_ – the skin of the soul is a miracle of mutual pressures.)
> 
>  **an addendum, since i get a lot of questions about this!**  
>  for those who are not familiar with how i handle monster gender, here's the cliff's notes version: monsters do not assign gender to babies based on genital appearance, they choose their own genders as children; therefore there is zero correlation between a monster's gender and what sort of junk they've got and no one is cis. what that means in terms of this fic is that toriel has a penis, and in monster society this is not perceived as a big deal.

Across the room from you Tori hesitates and lets her big hands fall from the thin straps of her dress. When she smiles at you there’s that little crease between her eyebrows that usually makes you feel squirmy and helpless at your inability to block out her worldly worries with jokes. The idea that _you’re_ the cause of the worries this time is deeply distressing, and makes the little spot in your backbone where you normally cram your capacity for sincerity ache.

“Are you quite sure you are all right doing this with an old lady like me, Sans?” she asks. The crease gets deeper.

You lean back on your hands and cross your legs at the ankles like a skeleton pretzel, and don’t let your grin slip at all—prob’ly better to make a show of how comfortable you are especially given that this is Tori’s room. “Yeah, ‘course. You know what a lazybones I am, if I had second thoughts I’d’a made some excuse for why I couldn’t be here. You know I wouldn’t come if I didn’t wanna come.” And you wink broadly at your own double entendre. Somewhere far away a rimshot plays.

Tori giggles. “Oh, all right. I just wanted to make sure. You know it is my wont as a silly old lady to worry too much.”

You appraise her with a beady eyesocket. “Look, uh…” And you hesitate, trying to feel out the right balance between heartfelt and comedic. “That goes the same for you too, y’know? If _you’ve_ got second thoughts, that’s fine, we don’t gotta do this. We can just get dressed and go downstairs and watch improv to the tune of cheap wine ‘n Lunchables.”

Tori’s eyelids lower a little, her lashes nearly obscuring her eyes. She sits on the edge of the mattress and rests her hands on her thighs. The bed dips from her weight, and rises a little under your own butt with the displaced tension. And you sit on the sofa side by side all the time, it’s just with the context of the night’s plans you’re more aware of that than you usually would be.

“I suppose I am merely getting cold feet,” she sighs, staring at the wall instead of at you. “Sans, I value our friendship very much, and I do not want anything to change. Is that not laughable, after how bored I once was with the status quo?”

“Nah,” you say. You lift yourself up on your hands and scoot sideways towards her, ‘til you’re close enough to reach out and clap a hand to her burly upper arm. “It’s not silly to get worried. In fact, we, uh—didn’t we start talkin’ about this ‘cause we agreed how stressful sex is to start with?”

Tori chuckles. “We did indeed.”

It went something like this—on one of your many quality hangouts, an idle turn in the conversation had led to her mentioning offhand that she missed sex. You’d half-jokingly asked what could possibly be keeping a hot MILF like herself from getting all the tail she ever desired, and Tori had shrugged and said that she was not ready for or interested in another romance quite yet. She and Asgore had been married and in love and had a child before their relationship had fallen apart, she had assumed that they would be together until the ends of their lives, and the wreckage of that love had been so emotionally volatile and taxing. She was not ready for that level of commitment again in light of her own experience of how badly things could go wrong, and she was very out of practice in the dating sphere anyway, seeing as she had not been in a position to date for over a thousand years. Casual hookups, too, would be difficult to navigate for her; she felt uncomfortable at the idea of having sex with someone she did not know she could trust—especially because she was out of practice with sex itself, as well.

 _Same hat,_ you’d admitted; _I don’t think I’ve gotten laid since my undergrad years? I was always too busy or too depressed, and like… the dating n’ hookup scenes are both WAY too much of a hassle._

 _Well, that is certainly a shorter period of celibacy than my own,_ Toriel had mused, _but it IS a larger percentage of the time you have lived._

Then she’d asked brightly what a MILF was. God, that had been A Conversation.

But realizing you felt the same way about sex made it easier to break the ice on the subject, and you’d talked about it more often after that. It only took a couple more months’ commiserating before the idea came up (snerk) to give being friends with benefits a try.

You’re best friends and you trust each other about as absolutely as either of you can trust anybody, so naturally you both agreed that it was the best possible option. So you made a date, surreptitiously shipped the kids off to Asgore’s for the weekend so you wouldn’t have to worry about awkward interruptions, and here you are.

You pat Tori’s arm stoically. “So uh, no romo or anything, but you’re my best friend in the entire world and I really do love you from the _bone-_ tom of my heart. We don’t gotta do anything if you’ve decided better of it. But for what it’s worth—a little _boning’s_ not gonna be enough to change how I feel about ya. You and me’ve stuck together like peanut butter over the past couple years, and I hardly think that’s gonna be any different if sometimes we—” you pause for effect, and Tori looks at you and you grin even more widely— _“nut_ together.”

Tori snorts once and then bends over cackling. You are filled with the warm fuzzies unique to making your best pal laugh with your worst jokes.

She reaches across her own body to take your hand in her larger one and smiles down at you, eyes twinkling. “Do you promise that we will still be friends in the morning even if I come in five minutes and leave you unsatisfied?”

You cross your bare ribcage with a fingertip, clacking against each bone. “Do _you_ promise you won’t judge me even if I can’t get off and just call it without botherin’ to fake it?”

“I solemnly swear that I will not,” Tori says.

She leans down and hugs you then: Wraps both arms around you tight and holds you close against her side, rests her chin atop your head. You get your arms as far around her as you can manage too. She’s real warm, is Tori—her fleshy furry body emanates a steady heat that goes straight to the marrow of you.

Yeah. You can trust her. The nerves of anticipation’re still jangling up and down your spine, but this is much easier and more comfortable than hitting the bar and then the mattress with college classmates and fellow lab assistants you were only buddies with on a superficial level.

“I am so very glad that you and I are friends,” Tori says to the nape of your neck. Her breath tickles your bare spine and the bones of your pelvis warm with a comfortably platonic lust.

“So’m I,” you tell her, and put strength into your arms to hug her back. “So, uh—you’ve uh, been gettin’ to ogle the bare-bones Sans all this time; am I gonna get to survey the goods too or would you rather keep that dress on?”

Tori snickers and releases you. “Goodness, no; it may have been over a hundred years since the last time I have had sex, but I still remember quite vividly indeed how a- _bone_ -minable the mess can get when I attempt to do so even partially clothed.” So you drop your arms, and she steps back and pinches her skirts between her nimble claws and shimmies the whole deal over her head in a gesture elegant as curtains. She lets it fall from her hands to pool on the floor before her feet, and then she rests her arms at her sides, allowing you your promised gander.

Her fur is snowy white all over, one perfect unbroken color, so that in the flattering half-light you’d have to squint to make out the definition of individual strands. It’s still enough for you to tell, though, that it’s true what you heard about Boss Monsters—individuals who don’t have the requisite plumbing to give birth don’t, it appears, have nipples. From the bedside, even so close, her fur is a soft slope down her breast and then the bell of her stout middle and sinewy flanks, all of a piece, like some miraculous bolt of cloth with no seams.

Well—there is the one exception. Even as you watch the dusky pink length of her cock rises further out of her sheath, the folds of fur and thin red lips sliding down the shaft to gather at the root, the lowest side resting crumpled against the base of her balls in much the same way her dress pooled when she dropped it.

You can make out the blue smudges of veins under the skin but on the whole Tori’s penis is neat and smooth, down to the tiny beads of precome pearling along the slit at the tip of the head. But you’re restrained from calling it _dainty_ by the fact that it’s, well, probably the length of your whole forearm if you clenched your fist, elbow to knuckles. ‘Bout as _wide_ as your fist, too.

So you do the only thing you can do, which is whistle in honest admiration. “Well damn, madame,” you say, delighted: “That is one mighty fine sausage you got there. Lookit that heft.”

Tori holds one huge paw up to her muzzle and giggles. “Goodness, Sans! You certainly know how to praise a lady.” She takes a little half step towards you and shadows ripple over her belly as she clenches her stomach to make her cock wag as she approaches, so over the top that you can’t help but snort. She sets one broad hand on the mattress and looks at you directly, a crease forming between her brows again. “But I do hope that I am not _too_ large, or we will have to come up with a swift change of plans. I do not wish to harm you in any way.”

“Ah, nah, you don’t gotta worry about it,” you say, and let your knees fall spread so you can gesture vaguely at the cavity of your pelvic outlet. “Long as it fits though here we’re good. These toasty buns’ll be able to hold up to your steamin’ hot jumbo salami just fine.”

She chortles at this, and sits beside you. “Then, good sir, would you like any, ah, condiments for tonight’s salami? I happen to be in the possession of water-based and silicone lubricants; I only use them with toys, so there should be plenty left.”

You shrug a little. The seesaw between kidding around with Tori like you usually do and earnestly talking shop is kinda _weird_ for its unfamiliarity but you think you’re finding your feet, and you’re pretty sure you could get to like it. After all, the energetic jig skirting sincerity and irony in turn has been a staple of your friendship since your knock knock joke days. “Ain’t gonna matter to me—in my experience it uh, feels the same with or without. Kinda depends on what feels best for you.”

Tori cocks her head to one side for a moment and then nods. “I suppose that we can always stop to apply some later, if I decide that I would like to.”

“Works for me.” You could make a big theatrical Deal outta this if you wanted to, but that might set a weird tone for the rest of tonight, so you just lean in towards her and give her your best shit-eating grin. “So hey, Tori. You ready to get in on the big secret as to how skelefucking even works?”

She grins back at you, all dark crinkling eyes and sharp teeth. “Sans, I do believe my tenterhooks are on tenterhooks at this momentous opportunity to learn.”

You gesture a little just for the showmanship of it as you conjure up a film of magic across the bottom of your pelvis, complete with a very rudimentary approximation of parted pussylips.

Tori leans in a little closer, making a happy curious sound. “Why, what an elegant little spell! I do not see any sort of interior canal, but…?”

“Don’t need one,” you say, and poke a fingertip between the lips. From her angle she’ll be able to see the film conform to your bones as the finger slides up into the cradle of your hipbones. “Stretchy. Anything that’ll fit, it’ll wrap around just the same. And it won’t break until I let the spell go.”

“Ingenious,” Tori murmurs, nodding happily. “This is truly excellent casting, Sans.”

Now this is starting to get a little embarrassing. You retract the finger, grin, and shrug. “I dunno about ingenious, but far as bein’ a living cocksleeve goes, I bet I can blow all your favorite toys outta the water. Without even any _blowing_ involved.”

She giggles and straightens up. “I will have to take you up on that generous offer, my fine friend! Now… I do not want to misgauge my strength, so I think I would prefer to lie back against the pillows instead of being on top of you, at least for this first time. If we decide we enjoy this enough to do it again, we can try other positions at that time. How does that sound?”

“Fine with me, I ain’t picky,” you tell her, and Tori smiles warmly at you, and despite yourself you can feel a blush steal across your skull.

She breaks eye contact with you to arrange herself against the headboard, like she said she would, squishing the pillows behind her upper back. You let yourself get distracted for a few moments looking at the intricate lace on the pillow covers in the shape of the Delta Rune, and then Tori reaches out for you—and in both hands, easy as picking an apple, she lifts you up into the air to settle you straddling her lap.

“Whoa,” you manage. “You’re—you’re strong, Tori.”

“Nonsense,” she says kindly, and leans in to nuzzle your forehead bracingly. “You are simply very light.”

You scrabble for a joke, but all you can come up with is fake swooning, or spewing nonsense like _Ooh Ms. Tori ooh, fuck me in my yaoi hole with your magnum dong,_ which she would probably stop to ask you to explain, and which she’d immediately understand as containing a note of sincere begging.

She saves you by asking “Are you ready?”, to which you just have to nod and croak “Yeah, whenever you are”—she looks at you for a moment and then lowers you directly onto her cock in one smooth motion.

Heat like magma infuses you, wraps all the bones of your middle and hips in warmth: You grunt as you settle in her lap, and Tori makes this fluttery little gasp of “oh!” and to your own astonishment you find yourself thinking that if only her hands were in a different place and you were getting enough stimulation you could probably nut right now.

“Tori,” you say as her eyelids close, as she tips her muzzle back to breathe in little huffs. She doesn’t respond, so you pat at her arm. “Tori—howzat feel? Don’t need’a get the lube?”

She swallows hard, the movement bobbing the whole column of her throat ( _you’re_ doing this to her. Whoa), and says “No, I—believe that I will be all right without. _Goodness._ I am not used to a partner or even a toy fitting me so very perfectly without—without feeling tight. And you still feel very liquid even though you are not really _wet._ I did not,” and here she swallows again and lowers her head with an effort; her ears are still flopped back against the pillow all inside-out and goofy-looking, and her eyes are unfocused, the pupils blown so wide that the dark irises look black. It’s a one-two sucker punch of endearment and lust straight to your heart; heat throbs all through your pelvis and lower spine. “I did not think that your claims were puffery, but I did not expect you to become my favorite cocksleeve as soon as I was inside you.”

Her words ( _inside you, inside you_ ) echo through your skull and rattle your ribs. None of your past partners or one-night stands ever put it like that before, like your vague magical simulacra counts just as much as an enfleshed monster’s pussy or ass or cloaca. “Well, shucks, Tori,” you manage. “Review that glowing, I’m gonna hafta add it to my testimonials on Amazon.”

She giggles. The vibrations go all through her body and all through yours, up through your shins and kneecaps and thighbones where your legs rest on and around her waist, rippling through the magic nested in your crotch. “And are you all right, Sans? This really doesn’t hurt you? Good heavens, I would be piercing your stomach if you had a corporeal one.”

You squeeze her arms as comfortingly as you can where they lay conveniently beneath your hands. “Ah—nah. Like I told ya before, I don’t really got a sense of pain in this thing. It feels really—comfortable and nice. Homey even. All full and warm.” Mostly because you trust her; the overintimacy of having somebody else’s body part all up ins would be hells of uncomfortable if you didn’t explicitly want it there. But that’s too complicated to explain in detail in the middle of sex, so. “Feels real good. It’s more warm fuzzies than somethin’ I can nut to by itself unless we took a long-ass time. The—the pressure, y’know. But don’ worry ‘bout havin’ your uh, your _whole_ cock in, inside me, Tori. The, uh. Deeper you are, the better it feels.”

She watches you bumble through this with eyebrows raising higher and higher, and then finally smiles and leans in to press her nose to the ridge of your cheek. “Thank you, Sans,” she says. “It puts me at ease to know.”

All this emotional honesty is horribly itchy, and just sitting still on her dick with her warm hands on you makes you wanna squirm, so as soon as she rests back on the pillows you grin at her. “So hey, Tori,” you begin. “I got a good one for ya.”

She’s already starting to grin at you. God, you’re so glad she’s not gonna complain that it breaks the mood to joke while you’re fucking. “Oh, really? I would love to hear it.”

You grin wider. “How do you milk a goat?”

Tori tilts her head, eyes all a-twinkle. You shift your weight as surreptitiously as you can. “I do not know, how?”

“What you gotta do is,” you say, “you make like a camel and hump.”

And you lean all your weight onto your arms to pop your hips up, then snap them down again with as much force as you can without risking slamming your tailbone straight into Tori’s balls.

“Oh!” she gasps again, the same sound she made when she lowered you onto her—but even more pronounced, throatier. “Oh! Oh—oh, Sans!”

“You like?” you ask, huffing, still pistoning your lower body up and down ‘cause you can damn well tell from her ecstatic tone and expression _exactly_ what her answer’ll be.

“Yes! Yes, yes— _Sans—”_

There’s some kinda trick to undulating the film of magic to squeeze a partner’s dick but it’s been so long you’ve completely forgotten how it works. But you doubt you’d need it anyway. Tori leans her own weight back onto her shoulders beneath you and starts to thrust upwards, bouncing you in a way that rattles your skull ‘til you find the right rhythm and ride her.

The sense of warmth and fullness doesn’t change with her rapid plunging in and out, but—her cock shivering in you, twitching, the little flecks of precome that go flying and catch on your bones and trail. The invisible magic that makes up your body registers the pressure of her movements and it aches sharp and hot in your pelvis, and you’d need this constantly for maybe half an hour to come but god does it _ever_ make you wanna come.

And in front of your face Tori’s black lips form round shapes around her breathless joyful little _oh! oh!_ s, split wide to flash white teeth and pink tongue when she says your name. You never thought much about whether she’d be loud or quiet or what, but this is so much fucking cuter than anything you might’ve imagined. Her eyes roll back a little sometimes, and she closes them then, tipping her chin up to show you her throat all blissful and trusting. If you swell up any more from fondness, your friendship gland is liable to rupture.

In the end it takes a little less than five minutes: Tori yells your name at an even more fevered pitch and clenches her teeth and screws her eyes up and pistons into you quick rough and shivery, and you’re too busy watching her face to look down at yourself but you can still _feel_ thick sticky ribbons of semen splatter your ribs and spine and puddle burning and unbearable in the cups of your pelvis.

You get up on your knees so she can disengage first before you dismiss the spell, so her dick won’t smack unsexily into your bones. Not like you can really appreciate, since you ain’t got any fleshy bits yourself, but that seems like it’d hurt. Tori lies flat beneath you, deliberately steadying her breathing like a pro.

“That settles the matter, I think,” she says. “You _are_ my favorite cocksleeve. I can state with authority that you are the only one aware of how best to milk a goat.”

Caught off-guard, all you can do is guffaw. _“Fuck,_ Tori.”

“I think we will have to wait until I am once again capable of an erection if you would like me to _bone_ you with one a second time,” she says mildly, and then smiles up at you all smug ‘til you’re done chuckling, “but until then I can at least clean up this egregious mess I’ve made of you. It is the least I can do in repayment for the most satisfying orgasm I have experienced in at least a century.”

You open your mouth to respond to that, but before you can make up your mind whether to make a joke or actually sincerely express that you’re touched by that admission, Tori licks the pad of her thumb and reaches up into your ribcage to wipe a smear of come away. The pleasant burn of the contact jolts through your whole body, and you twitch once sharply, rattling your bones. Your teeth click together, punctuating a half-assed whiny moaning noise that sounds like _hgnnnnnnnhn._

“Ah,” Tori says, and her outlines are blurry but you can still tell that the look on her face is wicked and delighted.

“Oh no,” you manage slushily. “Looks like you found out m’ terrible secret.”

“I did so wonder how one manages to pleasure a skeleton,” she says, adopting a ridiculous tone of wistfulness. “It seems as though it shall be a very enjoyable expedition, discovering how to best eat one out.”

“Holy hell,” you say, because you have somehow lost any ability to filter. “D’you always lick your cocksleeves clean? ‘Cause if you do, a) that’s kinky and b) uhhhhh that’s hot.”

Tori laughs. “My toys do not usually squeak so adorably, so no,” she says. “If, however, that is something that you would like to see, I do not think I would mind putting on such a performance for you. Anything to get your goat.”

“I’m so glad you and me are best fucking friends,” you say, “figuratively _and_ literally. Please unpackage my bones and fellate ‘em like you suck the meat off a KFC drumstick. I’m prolly gonna honk like a congested goose, though. Don’t pick on me for it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she promises, and you believe her. You’ve had so-called ‘better’ sex than this before, but it’s never been this fun or felt this safe. “How would you like to do this? Shall we stay as we are or would you like to lie down?”

“Lie down,” you tell her, “but you better use your hands for anything in my ribs. I don’t want you gettin’ stuck spelunking.”

“Heavens, no, that would be a _nightmare_ of embarrassment,” she says. Just as easily as she put you on her lap earlier, she lifts you off and lies you back across the mattress, shifting—from the sound of it resting her hind paws on the floor next to the bed. “If any of this gets too uncomfortable, please do not hesitate to stop me.”

“Okey dokey,” you say as if you are three, because all the brainpower you usually funnel into being witty has gotten redirected towards contemplating Tori’s mouth and your strong desire to get off.

She licks her fingers and delves right in.

It tickles, to start. For all that buildup she’s working with fingers and claws to seriously mop up her own come from your ribs—the insides and the slots in between, diligent and steady, more warm and comforting than sexy. But then she retracts her hands from your ribcage and showily licks her fingers clean and if you _could_ come without being touched you probably would.

When your chest’s clean to her satisfaction, finally she bows down to your spine. She licks—feathery wet, hot jolts that echo up and down your back—and then closes her mouth around the vertebrae and sucks, closing her teeth politely. Jaws like hers could snap your body in two with little effort, and that’s the hottest fucking thing in the world, but she’s very careful and doesn’t even bite down. It reminds you of what feeling valued is like.

When she gets to where your spine hits your pelvis she pauses to set your heels on her shoulders, and then lowers her chin to take one long extravagant lick across the bone, slurping audibly. Raw heat, pleasure too strong to contain, ripples through your body with your crotch at the epicenter and then fades when Tori’s tongue disappears back into her mouth.

 _“Hnnghghhghoooooohhhhyeah,_ more’a that, really hits the spot,” you get out.

Tori chuckles. “I am happy to please.”

You can clearly feel the heat in the splashes of come vanish under her tongue, but she’s dropped all pretense of only being here to clean you up: Instead she seems to be searching with tongue and lips and the soft tip of her nose where makes you shiver and choke on your own breath and yell most exaggeratedly. Maybe you shouldn’t be so surprised when you’re the one who used the word _unpackage,_ but it really feels like she’s trying to take you apart bit by bit in her mouth, roll you over her tongue and figure you out.

Your legs are already shaking but then she gets her mouth over the front of your pelvis and your back arches, your eyes roll up ‘til all you can see is dark, waves of heat wash over you and over you and over you and you squeeze your heels down to her meaty shoulders while your toes and thighs clatter. “Yeah, Tori, _yeah, oh fuck Tori Tori Tori—”_

Your babbling trails off into nonsense as you come, bowed up into one tense trembling arch. When you slide boneless to lie spread-eagled on the mattress your whole crotch is wet with Tori’s saliva.

“Well, damn it all,” she says, cheerful.

You crack open one eyesocket. Your vision’s doubling, faintly. “Whassit?”

“I lost track of how many licks it took to get to the center of a skeleton pop,” she says, and you Lose It.

Together you probably spent longer than it took for both of you to get off howling with laughter. Every time it seems like you’re gonna calm down you get a good look at each other’s faces and it sets you both off again. Tori’s so red she’s basically glowing through her fur, and you keep tearing up, and you both look _ridiculous_ but not in a way that makes you feel like you gotta hide it.

Finally Tori sits beside you, and your cackling trails off into giggles, and you push yourself upright too. You notice for the first time that she’s hard again, her dick so swollen with blood it looks almost purplish in the low light, dribbles of precome trailing all down the shaft.

You pat her thigh companionably. “Far s’ getting back on the horse goes,” you say, “I gotta say, that was a 20/10 experience. Great meat pony, would ride again.”

 _“Meat pony,”_ Tori repeats, wheezing, and starts giggling again, bending over in mirth. Her cock wiggles up and down and leaks precome in little spurts every time she laughs especially hard, which is weird and fascinating and also you can’t stop thinking about what that’d feel like if she were—to use her words, here—inside you.

Finally she takes a deep breath, one large hand on her chest, and rallies. Her ear catches on her shoulder for just a moment, and she has the demure smile and twinkly eyes when she looks down at you that makes you damn sure you’re gonna love whatever she says next.

“You know, Sans,” she says conversationally. “Asgore is going to have the children for the entire weekend. Therefore, there is no particular reason why we could not continue boning for the rest of the night like randy teenagers.”

“Heck,” you tell her, “there’s not even anything in the way of us boning _all weekend_ if we don’t get bored eventually.”

“Oh good,” says Tori, her whole face lighting up. “There are so many things I’d like to try, now that I know how to make you come.”

Her blithe cheer informs you that you are no-bones-about-it in for (heh) a _wild ride._ But Toriel’s your best friend in the whole world, and you trust her as absolutely as you trust anyone, so:

“And when we get too tired and hafta end our marathon,” you reply with a wink, “then we can watch bad comedies and replenish our stamina with cheap wine and Lunchables pizza.”

“Truly you are a friend after my own heart,” Tori says, beaming, and you high five.


End file.
